


Over the Desk

by bonneaux



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Grief, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:42:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7647010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonneaux/pseuds/bonneaux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Tommy goes to Lizzie for comfort after Grace dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over the Desk

Lizzie knocks on his office door and enters without waiting to hear him respond. That’s how she always does it when he is in there alone and she expects to find him as she always does, reading his papers with his back bent over his desk or pacing in front of his desk, scheming. This time, however, is different. He is still, very still, staring into space. His hand holds a cigarette that looks as if it is about to burn his fingers. His face is unmasked, open. What it shows is deep, wild-eyed grief. 

She stammers, “Sorry, Tommy, I just, I was, I needed…”

He turns his face to her, settling his blue eyes on her. “What is it, Lizzie?” he asks quietly, his voice gravelly. He looks then at his hand, looks surprised at the burning cigarette. He clears his throat. “What did you need, then?” he asks again, his voice steadier, his features settling back into his usual, blank self. 

She walks over to his side of the desk, her eyes scanning the desktop. It is a mess of papers, something that he would have never allowed before. He is on his way back to business, but she sees that he is far from where he was when Grace was alive. He is still forgetting things, and his desk is a disaster, far from the tidy way he operated just a month before. 

She bends over the desk, looking under a pile. “I was just looking for the notes I took yesterday, so I could type up that letter for the council,” she replies. She is still bent over, shuffling through another stack. He doesn’t reply. Her hands are busy, picking up papers and flipping through them but he is silent behind her. Breathing. Watching. 

She feels it then. His eyes on her. She feels a jolt in her stomach that reaches to her finger tips and she stops moving. He hasn’t looked at her this way since, well, since Grace came back into his life. She hasn’t turned around yet to see his face but she knows this feeling from before, from when he returned from France and spent days staring at her in the pub before he came up to her room. Having Tommy Shelby stare at you is a sensation that you don’t easily forget. 

She stops moving, still bent over. They both freeze, silently breathing. 

“Thomas,” she says, her voice low and calm. She turns her head, stands up straight. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t look at her. His head is hanging low, staring down. “Thomas?” she tries again, softer. “It’s okay, it’s okay if you want to.”

He sucks in his breath and shakes his head a little. He does not look at her. His breathing gets heavier, he is fighting off a sob that is rising in his chest. His eyes are squeezed shut. 

She squats then, beside his chair, and puts her hand on his knee. She tries to see his eyes but he won’t turn his face to look at her. She tips herself so she is kneeling and tries again. She feels the muscles in his thigh jumping, can see his jaw clenched. 

“Tommy, it doesn’t mean you don’t love her. That you don’t miss her. It doesn’t mean that.”

He makes a small noise in his throat and raises his eyes to meet hers for just a moment, then lowers them again. 

“Let me Tommy. Let me help you,” Lizzie whispers. She slowly moves her hands to his pants and unzips him. She looks up at him again for a moment. His eyes are closed now, but his face is relaxed and set in concentration. He is breathing through his nose. She takes him, already half hard, first into her hand and then her mouth. Slowly, slowly, she moves up and down, one of her hands at the base of him, the other steady on this thighs, the muscles still jumping under her touch. She pauses at the top, then takes him in again, swallows even more of him and he inhales sharply. She continues at a steady pace, increasing intensity. She thinks he is getting close. 

His hands grab her then, under her arms and he pulls her up to standing, turns her around sharply and bends her over the desk. He raises her skirt, pushes her panties to the side and enters her in one quick movement. She gasps now and steadies herself with both hands on the desk. It doesn’t take him long this way and he finishes with a low grunt and is still. She doesn’t move either, her eyes going back and forth, trying to decide what to do next. 

He pulls out of her, she hears him buttoning his pants. Usually at this point, when she turns around, he is already reaching in his pocket for his wallet. She will not take his money this time, she thinks, even though she knows he gives it to her so he can feel better about this. To make this another business deal. 

She straightens up, adjusts her clothes and turns to him. She is about to tell him to keep his money when she sees his face. It is there again, that look of open pain, the soft part of him exposed. She takes a step to him and puts her arms out and he falls into her, his head resting on her chest. They have never embraced, never kissed, never hugged, never shared any intimacy like this, it has always been just her bent over the desk. 

Her hand goes to the back of his head and she holds him as his breathing calms. They stay like this, silent for a few more moments. Then he clears his throat. She takes her hand from the back of his head, from between his shoulder blades and he straightens up, not meeting her eyes. She isn’t quite sure what to do, where to put her hands now. He walks over to the window. Stares out at the darkening sky. 

She stands up, pats her hair, leaves the office and shuts the door quietly.


End file.
